Page 30 of A Duchess in Ten Days (Icy Dukes #2)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

F or two days, Lavinia had neither seen nor spoken to her husband. And not for lack of trying.

For two days, she had been trapped in a storm of emotions, a whirlwind of frustration, hurt, and something else she refused to name.

She had not seen Andrew. Not at breakfast, not in the afternoons when he sometimes retreated to his study, and certainly not in the evenings when they were supposed to endure each other's company before retiring to their separate chambers.

It was as though he had vanished into thin air. And it infuriated her.

He had not even granted her the courtesy of an argument. Just silence. A deliberate, calculated silence that settled over the house like an unwelcome chill.

She should hate him. For the things he had said, for the way he had spoken to her at the ball, for how effortlessly he had shut her out again. But, infuriatingly, she did not.

Instead, she worried.

Had something happened? Had she driven him away by agreeing to dance with another gentleman at the ball? Was this what their marriage would be? A ghost of a union, bound by duty but divided by an unspoken chasm neither of them could cross?

Lavinia's fingers tightened around the embroidery in her lap she had been working on all day. The needle slipped through the fabric with a force that she had placed, but not calculated, causing the thread to snap.

With a huff, she tossed the ruined piece aside. Enough was enough.

If Andrew thought he could disappear into the shadows of their home and leave her to wallow in uncertainty, he was gravely mistaken.

Tonight, she would find him. And he would face her, whether he wished to or not.

Lavinia scoured the house for what felt like an eternity as the frustration mounting inside her made every passing minute feel stretched beyond reason.

Her irritation sharpened into something resembling indignation when every room yielded nothing. Had he truly taken such lengths to avoid her?

By the time she reached the east wing, her patience had waned.

The air was cooler here, the halls quieter, and the first place she thought to look was the study.

It wasn't the study he typically used—in fact, Lavinia was certain she had never seen him inside that study before as it had been used by the late duke.

Steeling herself, Lavinia strode forward, and when she finally found him, standing rigid before the painting of his father, she realized that anger was not the only thing fueling her.

She had been searching for him not just out of frustration, but out of something dangerously close to concern.

"What on God's green earth is wrong, Your Grace?" she questioned on entering the room.

He didn't immediately turn to face her when she entered, his eyes still fixed on the painting, as if it held the answers he could not put into words. The silence between them stretched thick, and for a moment, Lavinia wondered if he was truly going to ignore her.

But then, he spoke, his voice strained and low. "I've just been busy, Lavinia. There's nothing to concern yourself with."

She raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "Busy?" she scoffed, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. "You made a promise to spend more time with me, and yet here we are, days passing by without a word from you." She took a step closer, her frustration now bubbling to the surface.

Finally, Andrew turned to her, his expression unreadable but his eyes stormy, as though he had gone days without sleep.

"There's nothing wrong. I have had things to attend to. Matters of the estate, my duties...things that cannot simply be ignored." He gestured vaguely.

Lavinia, feeling the pull of something deeper, took a tentative step toward him.

Her heart ached at the sight of him so..

.troubled. Without thinking, she reached out and gently cupped his cheek, her thumb brushing lightly over the sharp line of his jaw.

Her voice softened, her words a tender plea. "What is it, Andrew?"

For a split second, Andrew's eyes softened. But as quickly as that softness came, it vanished. His breath caught, and before she could understand what had happened, he stepped back, pulling away from her touch as if it burned.

"Lavinia, I need space to work," he said, walking over to the other side of the room.

Lavinia's heart hammered in her chest as she watched him move away. She stood frozen for a moment, her hand still outstretched.

"Is this about the ball?" Her voice was quieter than she'd intended, but the words still came out sharp, as if they had a life of their own.

"Is that it? Because I almost danced with someone else?

Or is it because you didn't think I looked good enough to stand by your side?

Was that the reason you avoided me for most of the event?

Andrew's eyes flickered, an unreadable expression crossing his face for a brief moment. Lavinia could see the sharpness in his jaw tighten, the tension mounting between them like an invisible wall. He remained silent, not giving her an answer.

Lavinia's chest tightened, the sting of unshed tears rising painfully in her throat.

She hadn't expected to feel this overwhelmed, this raw.

But the mere thought of everything—the confusion, the hurt, the frustration—was starting to break her down.

She blinked rapidly, trying to stave off the tears, but they were relentless, pooling in her eyes before escaping in quiet, trembling drops.

Her voice quivered as she took a shaky breath. "I don't understand, Andrew," she whispered, her words barely audible. "Why do you avoid me? One minute we are friends, and the next, we are not. I have never been this confused in my entire life."

She tried to compose herself, but it was no use. The tears kept coming. She hated that she was crying just because she was angry. She hated that she did not understand. That she didn't know what she did wrong or how to fix it.

Andrew took a step forward the moment he saw the tears fall from her eyes. "Lavinia–"

"No." Lavinia lifted her hand quickly, her voice sharp despite her emotional turmoil. "Stop," she said, her breath hitching as she wiped her eyes furiously, unwilling to let him see her break down like this. "Don't come any closer. I don't want your pity."

But Andrew didn't stop. His expression softened for only a moment before he took a step closer, his presence overwhelming her. She had told him to stay away, but he closed the distance between them in a heartbeat, and before she could protest, his hands were at her face.

Lavinia flinched slightly, her eyes widening in disbelief as his fingers gently brushed away the tears she had been so desperately trying to hide.

His touch was surprisingly tender, and for a moment, she forgot how angry she was, forgot the hurt.

All she could focus on was the sensation of his hands on her skin, the warmth that seemed to radiate from him despite the coldness she now associated him with.

His hand traveled to the back of her head, and his fingers threaded gently through her hair.

Lavinia's breath caught in her throat, his touch sending a shiver down her spine.

He pulled her a little closer, and before she could stop herself, she found her body reacting against her will, leaning into him, seeking the warmth she had desperately longed for.

His eyes searched hers, as though looking for some sign, some approval as his hand moved to her chin and he lifted her head to meet his. But she couldn't give him that, not yet. Her heart was a tangled mess, and she wasn't sure whether it was hope or resentment that fought for dominance inside her.

Andrew leaned down, his breath warm against her skin.

The moment he kissed her forehead, Lavinia's breath hitched.

She was so taken aback, her knees weakened, but Andrew had her firm in his grasp.

His lips lingered there for just a moment, as though he was savoring the touch before moving lower.

He kissed the bridge of her nose next, then his lips traveled to her cheeks and he placed soft kisses on every side of her face with a gentle insistence, as though he was marking his place in her world.

His hand slid down to the back of her neck, his thumb brushing against her pulse point, sending a tremor through her.

Lavinia's breath became shallow, and her heart beat faster in response, as if her body couldn't control the way it reacted to him.

His kisses grew more insistent, more demanding, as though he couldn't stop himself now.

They came faster, closer, and she felt the heat between them intensify.

He was dangerously close to her lips, and Lavinia's body tensed in anticipation.

Her hands, almost of their own accord, reached up, gripping a handful of his shirt.

The fabric bunched in her fist as she held him there, unwilling to let him pull away, unwilling to let the moment slip through her fingers.

He paused, his breath ragged. His thumb found its way to her lips and it lingered, brushing them gently as if he was studying them.

..holding himself back, restraining a desire that he could no longer suppress.

Lavinia's heart pounded, her own desire thrumming through her veins, but she could see the hesitation in his eyes, the internal struggle that he was trying so hard to control.

Without thinking, she leaned forward slightly, her lips brushing against his in the softest, gentlest kiss. It was simple, almost fleeting, but it still sent a plethora of sensations coursing through her body.

In that moment, all the restraint in him snapped.